ent being revealed! Of how many feats of
chivalry had those old walls been witness, when hostile kings contended
for their possession?--how many an army from the south and from the north
had trod that old bridge?--what red and noble blood had crimsoned those
rushing waters?--what strains had been sung, ay, were yet being sung on
its banks?--some soft as Doric reed; some fierce and sharp as those of
Norwegian Skaldaglam; some as replete with wild and wizard force as
Finland's runes, singing of Kalevale's moors, and the deeds of
Woinomoinen! Honour to thee, thou island stream! Onward may thou ever
roll, fresh and green, rejoicing in thy bright past, thy glorious
present, and in vivid hope of a triumphant future! Flow on, beautiful
one!--which of the world's streams canst thou envy, with thy beauty and
renown? Stately is the Danube, rolling in its might through lands
romantic with the wild exploits of Turk, Polak, and Magyar! Lovely is
the Rhine! on its shelvy banks grows the racy grape; and strange old
keeps of robber-knights of yore are reflected in its waters, from
picturesque crags and airy headlands!--yet neither the stately Danube,
nor the beauteous Rhine, with all their fame, though abundant, needst
thou envy, thou pure island stream!--and far less yon turbid river of
old, not modern renown, gurgling beneath the walls of what was once proud
Rome, towering Rome, Jupiter's town, but now vile Rome, crumbling Rome,
Batuscha's town, far less needst thou envy the turbid Tiber of bygone
fame, creeping sadly to the sea, surcharged with the abominations of
modern Rome--how unlike to thee, thou pure island stream!

And as I lay on the bank and wept, there drew nigh to me a man in the
habiliments of a fisher. He was bare-legged, of a weather-beaten
countenance, and of stature approaching to the gigantic. "What is the
callant greeting for?" said he, as he stopped and surveyed me. "Has ony
body wrought ye ony harm?"

"Not that I know of," I replied, rather guessing at than understanding
his question; "I was crying because I could not help it! I say, old one,
what is the name of this river?"

"Hout! I now see what you was greeting at--at your ain ignorance, nae
doubt--'tis very great! Weel, I will na fash you with reproaches, but
even enlighten ye, since you seem a decent man's bairn, and you speir a
civil question. Yon river is called the Tweed; and yonder, over the
brig, is Scotland. Did ye never hear of the Twe